


Hello, Cursebreaker!

by MindelanWolf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Correspondence, Cursebreaker!Malfoy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Harry's a terrible auror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, This was a bad career choice, auror!Harry, tropes! tropes everywhere!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindelanWolf/pseuds/MindelanWolf
Summary: Life after Hogwarts is nothing like Harry expected, when he can even remember what's going on in his life. He's out of the loop, a worse Auror than he expected, forced to act guard dog for Draco Malfoy, and someone keeps sending him blank letters. A trope heavy festival of love and junk.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look, during these extremely trying times, I’ve been stressed enough to worry holes through all my sweater sleeves and bite my nails to the quick. I’ve been trying to edit various projects since *checks watch* roughly 2016. And current events being what they are, I just wanted to do something fun and stress-free and trope-heavy, so here I am.   
> I hope you enjoy this silly, angsty, going-to-be-much-too-long little story. Harry Potter does not belong to me, I do not give permission for my work to be published on any other site, and this has not been beta-read, so any mistakes are my own. Have fun!

Harry was at his desk, head in one hand, quill drying in the other. He wished Hermione were still around to help him with his homework. She had warned him more than once that he would never learn to write a proper report if she was always helping him, and maybe she was right. His reports were always terrible. All the clear reasoning that he used in tense situations, all the quick thinking, went completely out of his head as soon as he had a quill in hand. His reports tended to feature confused timelines, and the phrase ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He had been informed that this was not up to Auror standards.

“Hey, Potter! You really don’t need to be here,” called a voice from the door. Dean Thomas had poked his head into the cramped office. Harry was the only person left.

“Got to get these done.” Harry gestured to the desk.

“C’mon, do them tomorrow. They’ll be terrible anyways, may as well be terrible and late.”

“Your faith in me is inspiring,” said Harry dryly, but he looked longingly at his cloak. “In for a penny, I suppose.” He dropped the quill and stretched. Dean kept up with him as they walked out.

When he had started as an Auror, the Ministry departments had kept themselves strictly sequestered, but Kingsley’s influence as Minister had started to pay off after a few years. Harry now saw Dean, who worked in magical animal control and secrecy, nearly as often as he saw his fellow Aurors. They had started running a lot of missions together, to ‘combine the expertise of different fields, encourage creative and peaceful problem-solving, and build stronger community ties’, as Kingsley had said.

“Why are you encouraging me to shirk anyways?” Harry asked suspiciously in the lift. Dean had gone from a decent student to war fugitive to highly competent Controller. He had a knack for writing quick, clear reports. Harry had read them.

“It’s not exactly shirking,” said Dean. “Jut efficiency. You know someone else’ll have to rewrite them later, so I’m saving you the first step.”

Harry stumbled as the lift jolted to a stop. “People have to rewrite my reports?” he repeated blankly. Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him towards the floos.

“Face it, you’re hopeless,” he said.

XXXXX

At Hermione’s place that evening, Harry pushed peas and mash around his plate while she and Ron talked.

“I’ve been thinking of getting the blue couch,” she said, and Ron agreed like always.

“You have an eye for decorating,” he told her.

“Always the tone of surprise.

They were well suited to living nearby and apart. Hermione had insisted that she needed to be self-sufficient and independent as a young woman. Ron told Harry that he was happy to not be sharing a room with anyone for the first time in his life, and Hermione had been pleased to not need to consult anyone about her living decisions for now. Ginny had said the same, but it was clear that she wasn’t going to change her mind anytime soon.

Harry pretended to understand, but privately had no idea why anyone would want to come home to an empty house every night.

“Are you all right, Harry?” asked Hermione. Harry looked up from his uneaten mash.

“Fine,” he said. “Never better.”

“You’d think he’d be better at lying, after all that undercover training,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.

Harry took a stab at the mash. “It’s nothing. Just thinking about all the paperwork I’ll have to do tomorrow.”

Hermione nodded understandingly. Well, fake-understandingly. She never had issues with writing reports.

“It’s just—I just— I’m so bad at it!” Harry burst out. “I don’t get how anyone even wants to remember all these little details, and the organization makes no sense.”

“Well, you know it’s very important in a legal sense to—” Hermione saw his face, and stopped. “Well. Bureaucracy and all that sort of thing.”

“You should just get a Quick Quotes Quill,” Ron suggested. “Then you won’t have to remember, it’ll just write everything down for you.”

Harry thought of Rita Skeeter and shuddered. “No thanks. I don’t need that following me around all day.”

Hermione had her thinking face on again. When she started shuffling through scrolls of parchment on the sideboard, Harry took that as his cue to give up on the mash and floo home.

XXXXX

“Tracking mud through the house, Master is, no respect for nice clean floors,” said a creaking voice as soon as Harry stepped from the fireplace.

He shook the ash from his cloak and toed off his boots. “Kreacher, it hasn’t rained in days,” he pointed out.

“Ash, all over Master’s nice carpet,” Kreacher protested. The threadbare rug in front of the fireplace lifted itself gently to shake the dust back into the grate, then settled back in place, spotless. Harry shifted a stack of quidditch magazines off the couch so he could sit.

“And,” Kreacher added, “Master makes Kreacher’s old bones creak, Kreacher is waiting up all night—” Harry glanced at the clock; it was just seven o’clock—“Alone, worried, Kreacher didn’t know if he ever sees Master again, all that dangerous work. Kreacher is all alone, not even Mistress to keep Kreacher company.”

“I’ve been sitting at a desk all day, not exactly dangerous work,” said Harry reasonably. He pointed his wand at the fireplace, which leapt crackling to life. Maybe he had been wrong; it might be nice to live alone, after all. Kreacher had taken the move out of Grimmauld Place hard, and was constantly bemoaning Harry’s lack of friendly portraits.

“Hang on,” Harry said, before Kreacher could start again. “I thought Winky was coming round today.”

Kreacher wrung his hands crossly. “So Winky is, she is,” he croaked. “And after Miss Winky is gone, Kreacher is left to wile away long hours until Master is back.”

“I don’t know why you seem to want me to quit my job,” said Harry. He didn’t often feel cross with Kreacher these days, and every time he did he remembered Kreacher’s fist raised at the Battle of Hogwarts, and made himself swallow the irritation. “I’d always be getting in your way.”

“Master hates his works,” said Kreacher. “Unhappy master is unhappy house.”

“I don’t hate my work,” Harry said. “I just hate reports.” Kreacher shook his head, and Harry sighed. “Do you think you could manage to make me some tea?” he asked. He still didn’t like to make Kreacher to anything, and would have sent him to Hogwarts permanently if he thought Kreacher would actually stay there. But tea was always a safe request. For one thing, Kreacher always made himself a cup as well; for another, it took him ages to brew a pot that he considered a high enough standard to serve.

Kreacher bowed low, which he only ever did to annoy Harry, and shuffled off to the kitchen.

Harry’s sitting room at his new flat was dark, and painfully plain. He didn’t spend much time there. This was lucky, as Kreacher had a constant stream of houseguests who liked to reminisce about their contributions during the war, and Kreacher also refused to throw anything away. He fought Harry if _he_ tried, as well, so the whole place was littered with old papers and kitsch—mostly gifts from admirers. Harry had darkly wondered once or twice if this was the stage that the house elves in Grimmauld place had been in when they had their heads mounted on the wall.

“ _Accio_ , post,” he said, waving his wand hopefully. Sure enough, a bundle of parchment wriggled out from under a statue of a large dog and landed in his lap. He shuffled through gingerly; the week before, he had received a howler from a disgruntled Ministry clerk. The week before that there had been three different letters which each caterwauled praises and Celestina Warbeck lyrics until the neighbors banged on his walls. The past six months had brought over twenty love potions, even though his wards weren’t supposed to allow any through. It was as if Romilda Vane had decided to teach a stalking class, and the first assignment for each student was to try to contact Harry Potter in the most uncomfortable ways possible.

Today’s post seemed innocuous enough. A copy of Quidditch Quarterly flashed brightly up at him. He turned it over and smiled automatically at Ginny, racing across the front cover. Her bright hair glinted under the headline, _Holyhead Harpies’ Heroine Brings Home the Gold!_ Harry felt a lurch of simultaneous joy and pain in his throat. Ginny looked fantastic of course, fierce and confident. He hadn’t felt that way in months, at the very least. He couldn’t tell what he was more jealous of: that look, or the sleek, black Thunderstorm 500 she was riding.

He put down the magazine and flipped through the rest of the letters. A coupon from George, a thank-you note from a charity, two bills, and a blank white envelope. The last didn’t even display his address. He turned it over, frowning; for all Kreacher’s faults and unreasonable ‘organisation’ strategies, he never let the post get mixed in with other papers. He tapped the card with his wand, muttering, “ _Revelio.”_ Nothing happened. He turned it over a few times, and tried a _finite incantatum._ Nothing happened. Cautiously, he slit the top and slid out a thick white card.

It was also blank.

He held it up to the light. He said all the revealing spells he could think of, and then a couple that sounded vaguely familiar. He nearly stabbed a hole through the thing with his wand.

When Kreacher returned nearly a quarter of an hour later, Harry was staring at the card as if it might attack. Who would send an owl carrying a card with no message? It wasn’t even very nice paper.

“Master requests tea which he won’t drinks,” Kreacher sighed. “Master’s tea is cold already.”

Harry picked up the steaming cup and took a sip. “Thanks, Kreacher. This is great,” he said. “Hey, can you tell if this is magicked or something?”

Kreacher eyed the card suspiciously. “Kreacher detects no magic,” he said slowly. “Perhaps Master wishes to write a card and forgets about it.”

“Someone sent it to me.” Harry frowned deeper and flipped it over, then leaned to grab a pot of ink off the side table. He dropped a spot onto the paper. The ink simply stained; it didn’t sink in or vanish. Shaking his head, he extinguished the fire and stood.

“Goodnight, Kreacher.”

XXXXX

Harry wasn’t due to be on raids for a full two weeks. He had been shocked in the beginning of the job how many Auror raids were carefully scheduled months in advance, but in less than three years begun to see the wisdom in it. Everyone was better rested when surprises were few and far between.

Being stuck at the Ministry on desk duty was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, he didn’t have to write any field reports. On the other, he didn’t have much else to do, either.

It only took him until noon on the second day to break. He and Susan Bones who took the desk opposite him had been flicking paper airplanes at each other for half an hour when he pushed himself violently to his feet, nearly upending his flimsy desk.

“Want to try the training rooms, see if they’re open?” he asked.

Susan shrugged. She reminded him daily of her aunt Amelia Bones, who had saved his skin at the trail before his fifth year at Hogwarts. She had the same square jaw and dogged determination. “Sure,” she said, standing as well. She had grown to be nearly as tall as he was, but since she was normally bent over a desk, it always surprised him.

The training rooms were open. Harry spent a few minutes practicing small spells on training dummies, which always reassembled themselves no matter how hard a _reducto_ he shot at them. Susan went to practice on stopping flying bottles in midair without breaking them, always a useful spell for Aurors in potion shops. After a while, they traded places, and when Harry got bored he put his wand down and headed for the sets of magical and mundane restraints. In Auror training, they had learned to break most spells, but he wanted to practice getting free without the use of a wand.

“Hey, can you show me how to do that?”

Susan had come over, and was eyeing the manacles that dangled off just one of Harry’s wrists. He blinked, concentration gone, and then shook off the other side and put it down.

“Sure,” he said. “You didn’t do this in basic training?”

“I’m an Auror clerk, not a full Auror,” she reminded him. “Mostly I let the spellblasters do this kind of thing, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

He remembered suddenly that her whole family had been killed in the war, her parents and aunt Amelia picked off before the real fighting even began. “Sure,” he said again. He went to the table. “I’ve never worked with a clerk before,” he said.

“If you go somewhere with a lot of artifacts, sometimes we come along,”” she said. “Or somewhere totally unmapped, then we make identifications and take notes. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of engravings we had to study to i.d. magical objects quickly.”

“Let’s start with a non-magical set to start,” Harry said. “Since you haven’t tried it before.”

“Okay, now—how do I get out?”

“For these, _alohamora_ ,” said Harry.

The wand movement was awkward with hands behind her back, but Susan cheered when she finally managed it. He grinned too, and then locked the set again and took away her wand.

“Now, concentrate your magic on the metal,” he said. “Try to envision where the lock is, like you’re still holding your wand.”

This was harder, much harder than he had expected. Susan was a competent witch, but after twenty minutes of straining, she had only managed to twist the hinge of the cuffs, and was sweating. She sighed at last in defeat. “I’ll never get out without a wand,” she said.

“No, that was brilliant,” said Harry. “You were nearly there, you’d get it for sure if you had more time.” He gave her back the wand, and she _alohamora_ -ed her way free.

“You think so? I didn’t manage anything,” she said.

He showed her the twisted hinge and an encouraging smile. “You just need to figure out where the lock mechanism is, and focus on it.”

She smiled back. “Thanks, Harry. I owe you one.”

When he got back to the office to pick up his cloak, there was an interdepartmental memo on his desk. He unfolded it slowly- surely this wouldn’t mean overtime?

_Auror Potter,_

_Home clearing tomorrow afternoon to start, Cursebreaker led protocols. Standby operators requested from dept, you will be summoned. Wear comfortable shoes. You will be summoned should presence be required, no hijinks._

Harry frowned. ‘Standby operators requested’ combined with the shoe advise meant that he would be doing guard dog duty; not the most fun, but a fair sight better than some other assignments. Cursebreakers and house clearing meant that someone had found a cache of Dark artifacts. ‘No hijinks’ meant that Draco Malfoy would be there. That was the only reason Harry ever got a warning about behavior. 

“All right?” asked Dean. He had returned to grab a cloak as well.

“It’s like they don’t trust me,” said Harry, showing him the note. “You’d think I’d done something terrible to him.”

“To who?”

“Malfoy.”

“It doesn’t even mention him,” said Dean. Harry dropped the subject, and followed Dean to the lifts, thinking.

He hadn’t said more than about five words to Draco Malfoy in the five years since they’d left Hogwarts. They hadn’t been placed on assignment together, but the Head Auror seemed to think he needed a warning anyways, because every time the Cursebreakers and Aurors worked within two kilometres of each other, Harry got a note along the same lines. He wondered who had been gossiping about their school rivalry, to make the higher-ups so concerned about someone he hadn’t spoken to since he was seventeen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Harry get a different job? Will plot develop? No one knows! Onward! 

When Harry arrived at the Ministry the following morning, he didn't even bother to sit down at his desk. Susan Bones was already in the practice room when he walked in, pulling off a pair of mittens. She had brought someone with her, a man a few years older than Harry and a few inches shorter.

"Hey, Harry! This is my cousin, Malcolm," called Susan. 

"Second cousin," said Malcolm. Harry thought he might have been a Hufflepuff as well.

"He said he was interested in learning some tips—he wants to try for the Aurors next year."

"Actually, I just couldn't think of a better way to spend my morning than handcuffed by Harry Potter," said Malcolm, grinning. He had a wide, goodnatured smile and dark hair. He stuck out a hand for Harry to shake.

Susan saved Harry the embarrassment of trying to think of a reply by smacking the back of Malcolm's head with a mitten and snapping, "If you're going to be crass, you're uninvited."

"I am _not_ being crass!"

"Well," said Harry, "I guess the more practice, the better." 

It was fun, in the end, showing them each how to escape iron, silk, and rope ties, and even vines; there was a pot of semi-tamed Devil's Snare in the back of one of the closets that tried to pull Harry's hair out when he found it in an equipment closet. The Ministry practice rooms seemed to have a similar sort of magic as the Room of Requirement.

They ate lunch around a little table in the corner. Malcolm had a steady stream of jokes at hand and never got frustrated, no matter how much wandless magic made him sweat. Susan had been in Dumbledore's Army, and she had always seemed to enjoy mastering new spells; she had been steady in school, but timid. The war had given her a steel edge under her work ethic, and a surprisingly optimistic attitude towards failure. It wasn't at all like spending time with Ron and Hermione, but Harry didn't remember the last time he had enjoyed a day at work so much. It was nice to do something he was good at. It felt a bit like a smaller, quieter version of the DA.

When they finished eating, Malcom insisted on giving the silver handcuffs another go. "I'll get it this time, I'm sure," he said. "I was almost there earlier."

They had been at it barely ten minutes before they were interrupted. Harry wasn't surprised, but he was disappointed anyways. "Not that this doesn't look delightful," called a voice from the door, "but I'm afraid I'll have to break you up." A tall, nervous looking, snub-nosed man had stepped in, and his eyes lingered snidely on Malcom's cuffed hands. Harry recognized him from training.

"Aw, leave be, won't you Llewellyn?" Malcolm said. He tried to crane his neck round to figure out where the keyhole on the cuffs was. "You're just sad it's not you that Potter has all trussed up."

Harry did his best to will his face not to turn red, while Llewellyn tapped his fingers on the door frame. "Auror Potter, you're needed in Magical Artifacts," he said.

So, guard dog duty it was. Harry put Malcolm's wand back in his hand so he could magic himself out more easily. "Keep practicing," he recommended. "You're both getting loads faster."

Llewellyn led him to a low-ceilinged office crammed with desks. It was drizzling faintly from a light fixture, but apparently this had been happening for a while because the whole desk beneath shimmered with a drying charm.

"Cursebreaker Bell!" he called pasts several mountains of paper. 

A shadowy shape waded through what looked like a solid six inches of discarded parchment towards them. The Cursebreakers apparently didn't have time for basic office safety or maintenance, thought Harry. The shape came into focus, grinned at him, and clasped his hand.

"You all right, Harry?" Katie Bell said enthusiastically. "We're having quite a time of it- sorry about the mess. Thanks, Llewellyn, we've got it from here. You probably need a briefing, yeah? Let's go somewhere a bit drier."

"You can't really work there, right?" said Harry as Katie led him back into the hall. "I thought the Cursebreakers were better funded than that." 

"Oh, we are," she said. "To be honest, I don't even know why we've got this place- none of us are ever here unless it's to meet up. It's basically a useless paperwork repository."

And then Draco Malfoy materialized behind Katie's left shoulder, and nodded stiffly at Harry. It was such an uncharacteristic greeting, and Harry was so surprised to see him _right there_ that he nearly backed right into the wall. 

"All right?" asked Katie. She looked as friendly and comfortable as ever. 

Malfoy's hair was pulled loosely back, and his robes were dark and neat. "Auror Potter," he said. His voice was lower than Harry remembered. He had seen Malfoy a few times in the past five years or so, but not close up. His cheekbones looked especially sharp. 

Harry glanced quickly between him and Katie. She hadn't flinched when he arrived.

Katie's briefing really was brief. Harry paid attention while keeping one eye on Malfoy, who seemed to be staring disinterestedly at a sconce on the wall. If either of _them_ was thinking about the opal necklace Draco had nearly killed her with, it didn't show. The well-lit Ministry hallway seemed like a bad place to bring up the memory. He did his best to pay attention to Katie, though. Guard duty might be boring, but mistakes were no joke in the Aurors. 

One of the scouting teams had found a veritable warehouse of cursed objects underneath the Nott mansion, and they needed to clear the place quickly and carefully. Harry would be there in as basic security detail and, "to keep the roof from collapsing if anything blows up," while the Cursebreakers disabled what they could and retrieved the rest. There would be other groups there, but Harry was assigned specifically to the pair of Katie and Malfoy. Malfoy had been chosen because he was familiar with the house. This mention didn't elicit so much as a blink, although Harry remembered that Theodore Nott had hung around Malfoy's group at Hogwarts.

"And please don't touch anything," was Malfoy's only contribution to the conversation. "Even the walls."

Harry raised his eyebrows. When had Malfoy ever used such a mild tone? And this was surely the first time he had _ever_ heard Malfoy say _please._ "Sure," he said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. He trusted Katie as much here as he had on the quidditch pitch, but he wasn't sure how he felt about going into a den of cursed objects with Malfoy at his back. Still, better to keep his mouth shut for now. If Malfoy _was_ going to try something, it would be better for Harry to be there to catch him out. Besides, the note on his desk was had already given him enough of a reprimand for one day: _No hijinks_.

* * *

They used side-along apparition, with Malfoy taking the lead. Harry opted to take his elbow because it seemed the least personal, but then he felt foolishly like he was _taking Malfoy by the arm_ or something. He dropped his hand as soon as the apparition stopped squeezing his ribs, and tried not to look at Malfoy at all. They had landed behind a wright iron fence 

The Nott house was dark, and the gloomy skies made it look desolate, even haunted. The perfect place for an evil wizard to live, Harry thought, taking note of the gargoyles on the roof. He wished that he had brought gloves. Malfoy led them down a track through what must have once been a spectacular garden that had gone to weeds in the last few years.

"Watch your head," was Malfoy's only comment. Harry and Katie followed him through a low arch and around the back of the house, where a rampant rose bush had nearly buried a heavy wooden cellar door. Harry squinted at the back of Malfoy's crisply pressed cloak.

He had a strange, empty feeling in his chest, as if there was meant to be an emotion there but it had fallen out of place like a loose coin. He expected to feel rage at just the sight of Malfoy, but he didn't. Clearly his higher-ups expected it too, or he wouldn't have received the warning note- but then, why was he even assigned to partner with Malfoy in the first place? He didn't feel any of the things he expected to, not frustration or sadness, or even much suspicion. Maybe this was a good thing, and he could just relax, and forget about everything that had happened.

It took him most of the way through the garden to put a finger on the feeling, or lack thereof. Malfoy felt like a complete stranger, as if Harry had yet to form an opinion of him. That was somehow more disturbing than anger. Vexed with himself, and puzzled at the confusing numbness, he completely missed the spell that Malfoy used to clear the rosebush and open the door.

"Yikes," said Katie when they walked down the short set of stairs inside. "Well, they did warn us. And at least it's organized."

It was organized, and well-lit. Rows and rows of shelves displayed labeled artifacts, most either sinister or expensive, and many of them both at once. It was somehow worse to see all of them so carefully positioned than it would be to encounter them somewhere like Borgin&Burke's, where they would be in macabre disarray.

A few other people were already there, but the Cursebreakers evidently had already gone over a plan because Malfoy and Katie headed for the north-west corner of the room without skipping a beat. Harry waved at an Auror who was leaning against a wall and yawning next to a group of three Cursebreakers who were bent around a heavy wooden desk. Malfoy and Katie got to work, and Harry positioned himself to stand guard. 

* * *

The worst part of the day was undoubtedly Malfoy, but not in the ways that Harry had expected (his _brain_ seemed to be working, although his emotions had yet to catch up). Malfoy had been unpleasant to Harry for six long years, so Harry expected him to be good at it by now. Instead, he was scrupulously polite. He must have said "Thank you," eight times in the first hour. He said, "Pardon me," when he needed to squeeze past Harry between the narrow shelves, and called Harry 'Auror Potter; without fail and without even a hint of a sneer. Even Harry's supervisors just called him 'Potter'.

Harry was beginning to suspect that Malfoy really _was_ up to something , even if that something was just confusing Harry to death.

Katie was in good spirits, but much too busy to distract Harry from his wildly circling thoughts for most of the afternoon. When she straightened up after hunching over an intricately woven Turkish rug for forty-five minutes and announced she was going to take a breather, Harry followed her outside. Malfoy wasn't likely to bring down the roof during a five minute break, after all.

"He's being awfully polite," he grumbled to Katie when they emerged into the garden. He rubbed his hands together to ward off the cold.

Katie produced an apple from her robe and polished it. "Malfoy? Yeah, he's usually a lot more blunt," she agreed. Harry wasn't sure if 'blunt' was the right word for it. "But then again, Llewellyn told him to be on his best behavior, so maybe he's just taking it to heart."

"Maybe," Harry muttered. "Look, I hope you don't mind me asking, but isn't it a bit weird working with him?"

Katie munched her apple thoughtfully. "It was for a while, but the way I see it, I probably wouldn't have this job if not for him."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, I actually learned a lot from Madame Pomfrey and the Healers my seventh year, about curses and spell damage. I'm not saying that it was a _fun_ way to learn, but he's made up for it more than once by now. We're partnered together for most operations."

"Whose idea was that?" asked Harry, bewildered.

"I'm not sure. I am a _little_ bitter, though. I might be on the Holyhead Harpies with Ginny if I hadn't missed so much quidditch practice in the hospital. Did you see that Quidditch Quarterly spread on her?" She whistled, took a last bite of the apple, then threw the core hard at a gargoyle. It hit the thing squarely on the nose and dropped to the ground. Katie grinned, and headed back to the cellar. "Still got it," she sang. Harry followed her down, sighing, and settled in for the rest of a long, boring afternoon.

* * *

Clearing the cellars would take a week at least. This was another mixed blessing; there were still no reports to write since the Cursebreakers filled out all their own documentation, but nor was there anyone much to talk to. When Harry arrived the following morning at the Nott house, this time with a pair of mittens that Kreacher had dredged up from somewhere, the sky was as dreary as ever. Malfoy was, if possible, even more polite. That day, he had a black ribbon in his hair and velvety black robes.

Harry was glad to see Katie, and a few of the other workers at the Nott house were friendly enough during break time, but they were mostly too busy to chat. A single mistake on their part might bring the house down around their ears, so he wasn't inclined to distract them. Harry didn't want to chat, anyways. When he signed on to become an Auror, he had expected to spend his time tracking down former Death Eaters and helping people, not standing in a cold basement, watching other people do all the work. He focused on running through useful spells if something decided to explode, and watched Katie and Malfoy at work. 

When he got back to the office at the end of that second day, Susan Bones caught him as he gathered up his cloak.

"Sorry about abandoning you two the other day," he said.

"No bother," she said. "You gave us plenty to practice. Listen, I know a few of the other old DA members wanted to practice as well. _And_ I saw you were working with Katie Bell- she was in, too. Maybe we could set up a meeting time?"

Harry was surprised, but pleased. "It would be good to see people again," he agreed. "Maybe we can try for next week?"

"I'll ask," she promised. "Anyways, I said I owe you one, so I wanted to give you this."

Harry took the scroll she held out and unrolled it.

"It's an outline," she said, pointing to the top line, which read, _Date and Location_. "A little birdie told me you're a bear about writing reports, and I thought this might help. I didn't realize that regular Aurors don't get report writing training the way the clerks do, and it's not like Hogwarts has an essay writing course."

He scanned from _Spells used/Targets (priori incantatum as memory aide),_ to _Objects recovered: a) harmless, b) dangerous, c) unknown._

"This can help you organize your ideas so that you're not just looking at a blank page and wondering what a report is _supposed_ to say. It's pretty similar to the one we use."

"Susan, this is brilliant," he said sincerely. "Why doesn't the whole department use these?"

"Beats me."

"Potter!" Malcolm breezed through the door and gave Susan a quick hug. "Susie and I were absolutely floundering without you. Let me know when you're around to tie us up again. It was such fun, and _so_ instructive."

Susan shoved him, which didn't discourage him in the least.

"Whenever the Cursebreakers are done with this job, maybe next week," Harry told him, hoping his cheeks weren't red.

"I'll pencil it in," promised Malcolm. "Potter—handcuffs, week of February 5th. My calendar gets more interesting every day."

* * *

Late that evening, at home, Harry received another blank letter. Because it hadn't come early in the day with the rest of the post, Kreacher didn't have the chance to bundle it up and hide it where Harry was sure to sit on it by accident.

He didn't see the owl that delivered it— a quick rap on the window, a flash of pale feathers, and when Harry poked his head out, the letter was sitting on the windowsill.

It was the same as the previous one, a heavy card and creamy envelope. It was also blank, and resisted all attempts to reveal any information. Annoyed, Harry tossed it onto the table.

He couldn't help picking it up again and again, and turned it over all evening as if it might have time-sensitive ink and he would miss the message unless he kept his eye on it. The paper had a slight citrusy fragrance. Perhaps someone was telling him to bake a key-lime pie, or make lemonade. In the end, he dozed off on the couch, blinking at the fire until it cooled to embers. In his dreams, he walked through the Room of Hidden Things, trying to follow a voice he didn't recognize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, two whole chapters and still, practically nothing has happened. Well, I hope you enjoyed. Like essentially all writers, I love reviews and feed on them in dark nights when food stores are low. Please help me save up for a harsh winter by dropping me a friendly comment. Or an unfriendly one, anything will add fuel to the fire. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend!   
> Many thanks to darling Marie for listening to me ramble about this silly story.

When Harry arrived at the Nott house on Monday morning, Malfoy was there alone to greet him. Well, perhaps ‘greet’ was too strong a word.

“Auror Potter,” he said with icy cordiality. His hair was held back today by a dark ribbon. Harry wondered what would happen if he pulled it out; Malfoy’s hair was pretty long by now. “Good morning.”

“Malfoy,” said Harry. He looked around, squinting in the early sunlight. “Where’s Katie?”

“Cursebreaker Bell went ahead to unlock the trespassing charms,” said Malfoy. Harry watched him as Malfoy led the way to the cellar entrance. He looked different, and it wasn’t just the long hair. Harry’s hair was shaggier too, come to think of it. And Malfoy seemed less like a stranger than he had the day before—and maybe more like an automaton. His straight, polite face was settled on like a mask. He had often used that face at school when he spoke to teachers, Harry remembered. When it slipped, the expression behind was usually disgust, disdain, anger, or later, fear. The mask slipped now as he glanced back at Harry, but there wasn’t a sneer behind it. Instead, Malfoy looked impatient, as if he were waiting for someone to tell him a bit of important news. Harry briefly thought there was something he was meant to say to Malfoy, but he certainly couldn’t think of anything. He hoped there were not tricks planned for the day.

Malfoy broke the silence as they trudged up the rise leading to the back garden. “I heard you’ve been tying up clerks in your spare time,” he said.

“Where did you—I have not—” Harry stopped himself; Hermione had been working on that with him. “

“Not judging, of course, Auror Potter,” said Malfoy. “I just thought it was a surprising use of Ministry resources.” Was he smiling? No, the mask was back in place.

“It was just training,” Harry growled. What kind of rise was Malfoy trying to get out of him with this, he wondered. Better to just stay calm, not give him any ammunition.

But Malfoy didn’t push it, and from Malfoy, that _was_ pushing it. “Are you feeling all right today, Malfoy?” Harry ground out.

“I’m perfectly all right, thank you,” said Malfoy. He had the gall to sound almost _gratified_. What was happening?

Harry wanted to say that he hadn’t asked out of concern, but they had arrived at the cellar doors, and down they went. Malfoy held the rosebush aside, apparently unconcerned about the thorns. Katie was waiting between what looked like a real mummy and a contraption involving a wheel, a steady stream of water, and a lightbulb which sparked furiously every few seconds.

“Take a look at this, Malfoy!” she called. “What do you s’pose it does? Heya, Harry.”

“Well, that looks safe,” Malfoy said. Katie laughed, and they got to work.

The day continued strangely. Telling Ron and Hermione about it later that night, he struggled to articulate exactly what had him so thrown off balance. It was just like sixth year again, certain that Malfoy was up to something—and he had been right then, hadn’t he? Except that Malfoy had nearly killed Katie Bell that year, and now they seemed to be perfectly comfortable, friendly colleagues.

“Well, that seems all right then, doesn’t it?” Hermione said, spooning peas onto her plate. “He didn’t do anything threatening, and Katie’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“You don’t reckon he bewitched her or something?” Ron asked.

Harry actually thought about it for a moment. “No way,” he said. “She’s acting totally normal, not enchanted or anything.” He thought back to the short conversation they had outside the cellar the day before; surely if she had been enchanted, she wouldn’t have been so candid about her relationship with Malfoy.

“Between us,” said Hermione drily, “Malfoy’s getting quite a reputation. The Magical Enforcement Committee thinks he’s one of the best Cursebreakers around.”

“Well, he would be, wouldn’t he?” said Ron, gesturing with a piece of bread. “He’s probably been around loads of Dark stuff, cursed objects, knows exactly how it all works.”

“He’s just acting weird. He kept _looking_ at me,” said Harry.

“Would it be better if he had ignored you?” asked Hermione.

That was the problem; it was as if Malfoy had been trying to do both at once—look at Harry, and ignore him. “Look, it was just weird. _He_ was weird.”

“Y’know what I reckon,” said Ron. “He’s trying to pay you back for stalking him in school. He thinks if he stares at you enough, you’ll be even.”

That made as much sense as anything else, thought Harry, so he let Hermione change the subject. His mind kept slipping back to those looks. Did Malfoy expect Harry to start some sort of conversation? Was there an unfinished argument they had left off in the middle? He couldn’t think of a single good explanation for it.

* * *

The next day, and indeed the entire week, might have continued in the same vein—Harry watching Draco watching Harry—except for that Damn Mummy. Harry had named it that because every time he turned around, he managed to trip over the thing. It didn’t appear to move, but his feet always found it whenever he least expected. Katie went to get coffee around midmorning, and Harry was standing around listlessly while Malfoy sorted through objects. Harry took two steps towards the door, and suddenly he was sent sprawling into Malfoy who was crouched on the floor holding a delicate glass bauble.

“Merlin, watch it!” Malfoy said, more sharply than anything that had come out of his mouth in the last few days. Harry reeled back until Malfoy caught the front of his robe to keep him from crashing into another shelf behind him. “Be careful!”

Harry regained his balance and Malfoy dropped the front of his robe like it was on fire, the other hand clutching the glass bulb to his chest as if it might be his grandmother’s favorite ornament.

“You are in a room full of _cursed objects_ , Potter,” Malfoy snapped. “Does that mean nothing to you? Sit down for Merlin’s sake, right there—don’t move _at all_.” He conjured an austere wooden chair that knocked Harry’s knees from behind. Harry sat hard.

“I tripped over that Damn Mummy,” he protested. He wasn’t _clumsy_. “Calm down, I’ll sit.”

“ _Stop_ tripping. Stop _moving._ Do you have any idea what this is?”

“No,” said Harry. Malfoy’s cheeks had gone quite pink, almost splotchy.

“Gringotts goblins designed this thing, Potter; if anyone breaks it, it will reform itself with the breaker on the inside, and Merlin knows how I’d ever get you out again.” The pink was spreading to Malfoy’s collar, and Harry realized this was the first time Malfoy hadn’t called him ‘Auror Potter’.

“Who keeps something like that in their own house?” he asked.

“It’s an anti-looting protection,” Malfoy said. He loosened his death grip on the glass and took a few deep breaths. The color faded from his cheeks, he appeared to be struggling to get his face under control. It was an interesting process, Harry thought. “ _Please_ be careful, Auror Potter.” Malfoy’s voice was almost back to blank cordiality, but his chest was still rising and falling a little to quickly for calm. “This is not the most dangerous thing in here, and while I’d love to see you stuck in a Christmas bauble forever, it would be in bad taste to decorate the tree with you.”

“It’s the _mummy_ ,” Harry insisted again. “Honestly, it’s not like I’m always falling over my own feet. Can’t you deal with it? It’s trying to take me out.”

Malfoy cast a slow look at Harry’s feet in his sturdy Ministry-issue boots, as if doubting Harry’s ability to balance on them. Then, he gave the Damn Mummy an equally appraising once over. “Fine,” he said at last. His face was perfectly pale again. “But for Merlin’s sake, stay put.”

He set the bauble down very carefully on a folded tartan cloth, and knelt on the floor to take a good look at the Damn Mummy’s feet and ankles.

The next bit happened so quickly that Harry had trouble explaining it to himself later. One minute he was watching Malfoy tug a silver charm gingerly out of the wrappings around the mummy’s knees, and the next, Harry was scrabbling for his wand, and finally he was knelt over Malfoy in a pool of water. Malfoy was on his back, gasping, face death-pale.

“Are you all right? Say something!” Harry looked around frantically. The mummy was gone, and nothing appeared to be on fire, although he smelled smoke.

“Wind,” wheezed Malfoy. “Knocked out.”

Harry realized that he was nearly kneeling on Malfoy’s chest, and scrambled back to give him some air. Malfoy sat up slowly. His hair had pulled free from the ribbon, and fell around his face. It made him look younger. “Clever,” he gasped, rubbing his chest. “Maybe… a bit idiotic… but also clever.”

The Damn Mummy hadn’t vanished after all, Harry realized. It was simply much smaller than before, and behind glass. He picked up the anti-looting bauble and peered in at the mummy.

“Good throw,” added Malfoy begrudgingly. It must have been one, but Harry honestly couldn’t remember throwing the thing.

“I guess I’d better write this up,” he said. That was a tip from Hermione. If he wrote his reports right away, she said, he wouldn’t have time to forget the details.

“Dammit, Potter,” said Malfoy. “Hang the report, honestly. You’re all right?”

“I’ll just sit over here and write this, and if anything else explodes, yell for me,” Harry suggested.

Malfoy shook his head. The polite mask was totally gone, and he looked like his old self again. It gave Harry a rush of mixed relief and frustration.

“My robes are soaked, and I’ve gotten singed,” he said flatly. His robes _were_ dripping, hanging heavy off his narrow shoulders. “I’m going to the Healers to check for injuries, and I suggest you do the same.”

Harry followed him out to the garden and let Malfoy go, presumably to the Ministry medics. He sat hard on a step in the garden and pulled out a spare parchment from his robes, along with the outline that Susan Bones had given him. He determinedly did not think about Malfoy’s red face, or about nearly lying on top of him. The report had to be done, and he was going to do it.

The first part was easy: Name, date, reason for report. Aurors had to turn in short accounts for every on-the-job magic; he’d filled one out himself for a job during which he had only cast _lumos_ to see better on a dark street. That had nearly convinced him to buy a muggle torch, if only to lessen the paperwork,

The next section was the magic report. He cast _priori incantatum_ and tried to piece together the information with his confused memories. _Portego_ , probably a shield from the initial blast, and then _aguamenti_ , to put out a small fire. _Accio_ for the bauble, which he had then thrown at the mummy. Simple, really. So why were the only two things he remember with any clarity Malfoy’s surprised face when the light flashed—his eyes were so wide—and Malfoy’s chest heaving under Harry’s?

He tried to go through each moment step by step—when he had cast each spell, when he had moved—but it was no use. When had Malfoy become so solid? When had his face filled from unpleasantly pointed to angular and sharp? Had his hair always been so supernaturally blonde?

Katie got back before Malfoy, swigging coffee and humming. She stopped when she saw Harry sitting in the garden. “Everything all right?” she asked.

“The Damn Mummy tried to explode,” he explained. “Malfoy’s at the Healer’s.”

“These old rich bastards,” she sighed. “You know they had kids? Imagine if one of them had snuck into the basement sometime.” Harry just shook his head. “Well, I’m going to talk to the other team, see if they’ve got anything interesting before Malfoy get’s back,” she added. “You all right here?”

“Fine,” said Harry. “Have fun.”

She headed off, and Harry watched the slowly darkening sky for a while.

* * *

Malfoy apparated on the edge of the garden a half hour later at strolled over. His robes were dry again, his hair pulled neatly back. Harry jumped to his feet; he felt foolish sitting on the ground with Malfoy towering over him.

“Are you all right, then?” Harry asked. “No injuries or anything?” His face felt hot. He hoped Malfoy wouldn’t be able to tell that Harry had been thinking about anything as idiotic as his hair.

“I—” Malfoy stopped and tilted his head. It reminded Harry of Sirius in dog form. Snape hadn’t taught him Occlumency, had he? “I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” said Malfoy. His voice was quiet, and a bit confused.

“All right to go back to work, then?” Harry barreled on. If Malfoy went back to work, maybe he would stop looking like that. His eyes were so silver they were nearly glowing. How had Harry missed that?

“Sure,” said Malfoy. “But are you sure you won’t see a Healer, Auror Potter?”

That was enough. “Stop it,” Harry said. It came out louder than he meant it to; Malfoy actually took a step back.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“Quit it with the mild mannered gentleman act you’ve got going on,” said Harry, “and stop being so polite with the ‘Auror Potters’ and ‘pardons’. You’re driving me insane.” He was sure he sounded like a petulant, unreasonable child, but he was on a roll now. “We may have to work together, but that doesn’t make us suddenly different people, so stop acting like you’re some sort of Ministry robot.”

“I don’t think the Ministry has robots,” said Malfoy quietly.

“You _know_ what I mean.”

“I do not,” said Malfoy. “Let me just get this straight. You _want_ me to be rude to you?”

“Yes. No,” said Harry. “It’s not rude to drop a ridiculous level of formality down a notch or two.”

Malfoy’s lips thinned into a straight line which reminded Harry forcibly of Professor McGonagall. “I don’t understand,” he said flatly. “I thought it would be better this way.”

“What, to act like we’d never met before?”

Malfoy's shoulders tensed up; he was thin and wiry, but had a good two inches on Harry. "Respectful colleagues must respect one another and demonstrate good manners," he said as if quoting an etiquette guide. "I was simply trying not to cause offense."

Harry looked hard at his face, and for whatever reason, for maybe the first time ever, he believed Malfoy. He felt strangely breathless, and tried to cover it up with a laugh. It broke some of the tension; Malfoy relaxed, and almost smiled, and Harry shook his head. "Stop trying so hard," he said. "It's much more offensive that you think I might blow up at the drop of a hat. My actual name doesn't usually offend me."

"Does that mean I can start calling you Scarhead again?" asked Malfoy dryly.Harry had to laugh again, Malfoy’s raised eyebrows getting the better of him. “Just stop standing on ceremony. You dressed up like a dementor to make me fall off my broom that one time, so I think that ship has sailed.”

Malfoy actually winced, as if the memory pained him. “If you insist,” he said reluctantly.

“I don’t love ‘Scarhead’, though I probably wouldn’t curse you for it,” said Harry. “Let’s go in, I’m freezing.”

“Are you _sure_ you won’t see a Healer though?”

“There’s not a scratch on me,” Harry said. Malfoy conceded and followed him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah, that's enough for a day, but more to come! Reviews feed my ravenous craving for appreciation, etc. etc.


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